Chapter 1
Yena moved through the crowded marketplace of Yunhwa, her steps measured as she navigated around merchants peddling their wares, and patrons haggling with them over prices. The morning sun cast a golden light across the town square, warming her face in the midsummer breeze. Yena could feel the day’s heat already stirring in the breeze. It’s bound to be another hot one, she thought.
Behind her, Daeun, her maid, followed at a respectful distance, carrying a woven basket already half-filled with the vegetables and spices that Yena’s mother-in-law had demanded for the evening’s dinner. Yena’s shoulders slouched slightly beneath the weight of her responsibilities, but today, for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, her heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. She most certainly hadn’t been this light since Seojin, her dear husband, had been sent off to war.
“My lady, we still need dried mushrooms,” Daeun said softly, her voice barely audible above the market’s din. “And the river fish. Lady Ahn was very specific about wanting only the freshest catch.”
Yena nodded, turning to offer her maid a small smile. “Yes, of course. The mushrooms first, I think. Then we can ensure the fish doesn’t sit in the sun too long.”
The marketplace hummed with life around them. Wooden stalls lined the cobblestone paths, their awnings creating a patchwork of colors overhead. Merchants called out their wares in rhythmic chants that still sounded the same as they had when she was a child. The air was thick with the mingled scents of grilled meats, fresh vegetables, and fermented kimchi. Incense from a nearby temple mixed with the earthy smell of fish and river mud from the stalls closest to the waterfront.
Yena breathed it all in, grateful for these precious hours away from the stifling confines of the Ahn family estate. Here, amid the chaos of the common folk and nobles alike, she could momentarily forget the cold stare of her mother-in-law, and the endless list of critiques she shot at Yena’s daily performance.
“Look, they have fresh ginger root at Master Hong’s stall,” Yena said, gesturing toward an elderly vendor whose wrinkled hands arranged his produce with practiced precision. “Madam Chaewon didn’t request it, but perhaps it would please her if we added it to tonight’s soup.”
Daeun’s eyes widened slightly. “An excellent thought, my lady. Lady Ahn mentioned just yesterday how the palace kitchens always use fresh ginger in their broths.”
Yena nodded before suppressing a sigh. Three years of marriage, and she was still learning the labyrinth of her mother-in-law’s preferences. Madam Chaewon had many spoken demands, and just as many unspoken expectations. Navigating was still a gauntlet of disappointed looks, heavy sighs, and threats of retaliation. Things had only gotten worse between Yena and her mother-in-law with Seojin away in battle, making any escape from the Ahn household a breath of fresh air.
Yena approached the stall, examining the gnarled roots with careful consideration. “Master Hong, your ginger looks exceptional today,” she said, offering the old man a gentle smile.
His face creased further as he returned her smile. “Young Lady Ahn, you honor my humble stall. This batch arrived just this morning from the eastern fields. The best I’ve seen this season.”
Yena’s smile faltered slightly at being addressed as Lady Ahn rather than by her family name, Yong. After three years, she should have grown accustomed to it, but something in her still resisted the erasure of her original identity. She was a Yong by blood, even if marriage had grafted her to the Ahn family tree.
“I’ll take three pieces, please,” she said, her smile returning as she selected the ones she wanted.
As Master Hong wrapped her purchase in a scrap of parchment, Yena felt Daeun shift closer to her side.
“My lady,” Daeun whispered, “that man near the fish stalls…I believe he’s one of the Ahn house guards. He’s watching us.”
Yena didn’t turn to look. Of course, Madam Chaewon would send someone to monitor my movements. It did not matter if it was a simple market errand. If there was a chance that Yena could tarnish the Ahn name, Madam Chaewon would do everything she could to mitigate the risk.
“Then we’d best not dawdle,” Yena replied softly to Daeun, casually glancing towards the fish stalls. She saw a man watching the pair with rapt attention before darting her eyes away. “We’ll get the mushrooms next.”
They wove through the crowd toward a covered stall where dried goods hung in neat bundles from wooden beams. The smell of earth and forest filled this corner of the market, a welcome respite from the stronger scents of fish and fermentation.
“Lady Ahn, what an unexpected pleasure,” the mushroom merchant said, bowing deeply. Her gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her hands were stained brown from handling her wares. “What can I offer you today?”
“Lady Min,” Yena greeted her with a proper bow of her own. “I need pine mushrooms for tonight’s meal. The finest you have, please.”
As Lady Min busied herself selecting the perfect specimens, Yena allowed her mind to drift to her husband, Seojin. Despite the difficulties with his parents, he had been nothing but kind to her. His gentle smile and thoughtful gestures had slowly won her heart over the years of their arranged marriage. He had left for war, a mere fortnight ago, but it had already felt longer than that. He was no longer able to be a buffer between Yena and Madam Chaewon, meaning Yena was under intense scrutiny, day after day.
“These should please even the most discerning palate,” Lady Min said, interrupting Yena’s thoughts as she presented a small bundle of perfectly dried mushrooms. “Will there be anything else?”
“No, this is perfect,” Yena replied, passing over the required coins. “Thank you.”
With the mushrooms secured in their basket, Yena and Daeun returned to the fish stalls near the river’s edge. The crowd grew thicker here, and the cobblestones became slick with water and fish scales. The smell of fresh catch and river water dominated, making Yena wrinkle her nose slightly.
“My lady, should I handle this purchase?” Daeun offered, noting Yena’s discomfort. “The fish merchant can be... overfamiliar.”
Yena shook her head. “No, I’ll do it. Mother Ahn would say I’m not fulfilling my duties if I delegate something this simple.”
The fish merchant, a broad-shouldered man with hands as rough as tree bark, grinned widely as they approached. “Lady Ahn! Your beauty brightens my humble stall. What can I provide for your noble household today?”
Yena’s face remained impassive, as she did her best to neither encourage his flattery, nor rebuke it. “I need three river carp, freshly caught this morning,” she informed him.
“For you, only the finest,” he declared, a wide grin stretching across his face as he gestured grandly to a wooden tub where several silver-scaled fish still twitched with life. “Caught at dawn, when the river spirits are most generous.”
Yena gave him a polite smile and nodded. “Perfect,” she murmured, as he turned to select the fish for her purchase. She turned away from the stall, allowing her gaze to wander. The market stretched out before her, a breathing entity of commerce and human connection. She spotted families shopping together, mothers with children clinging to their skirts, elderly couples moving slowly from stall to stall with the comfortable familiarity of decades spent together.
A pang of longing twisted in her chest. Three years of marriage, and still no child of her own. No little one to guide through these market stalls, to teach the names of vegetables and spices, to watch their wide eyes at the spectacle of the marketplace.
Hopefully my time will come soon.
“My lady?” Daeun’s voice pulled her back to the present. “The fish is ready.”
Yena turned back to the merchant, who giddily handed her the wrapped fish, and she smiled politely again as she placed the coins in his palm. “Thank you,” she said.
“Anytime, Lady Ahn,” he said with a wink.
As she turned away, her eyes caught on a pair of tiny shoes, gleaming in the sunlight, at a stall displaying handcrafted items. Baby shoes.
Without thinking, Yena changed direction, drawn to the stall like a moth to flame.
“My lady?” Daeun questioned, hurrying to keep pace.
“Just a moment,” Yena murmured, approaching the stall where an elderly woman sat working on another tiny garment.
The shoes were perfect, made from soft blue silk with gold and red embroidery depicting dragons and clouds. Symbols of imperial blessing, far too grand for a common child, but fitting for a grandson of a noble house like the Ahns.
Yena reached out, her fingers hovering just above the delicate booties.
“They bring good fortune,” the old craftswoman said, looking up from her work. Her eyes were clouded with cataracts, but seemed to see right through Yena nonetheless. “For the child that is to come.”
Yena’s heart skipped a beat. “How did you—”
“The way you look at them tells me everything, young lady,” the woman replied with a knowing smile. “A woman with child has a certain light in her eyes.”
Daeun shifted uncomfortably beside her. “My lady, perhaps we should continue. The fish...”
But Yena couldn’t tear her eyes from the shoes. In them, she saw possibility. A future where she was more than just a disappointing daughter-in-law, where she was a mother with a child of her own to love. A child who might bridge the chasm between her and the Ahn family. A child who was already growing in her womb, and a life filled with more possibility than her own.
“I’ll take them,” Yena said decisively, reaching for her coin purse.
The old woman nodded sagely. “A wise choice. The dragon brings strength to the child who will wear them.”
As Yena handed over her coins, silence fell across the marketplace. The constant hum of voices dimmed, replaced by a collective murmur of concern. She looked up, noticing for the first time that the golden sunshine had vanished, replaced by a sudden darkness as clouds gathered overhead with unnatural speed.
“Strange weather,” the old woman remarked, wrapping the baby shoes in a scrap of clean cloth. “Not natural, these clouds.”
Before Yena could respond, the first fat droplets of rain began to fall, striking the cobblestones with audible splats. Within moments, the gentle shower transformed into a torrent, with water cascading from the blackened sky as if the heavens themselves had split open.
Market-goers scrambled for cover, merchants hastily covering their wares with oiled cloths. Daeun grabbed Yena’s arm, tugging her toward the shelter of a nearby tea house.
“My lady, quickly!”
But Yena stood frozen, the wrapped baby shoes clutched to her chest. The rain soaked through her hanbok in seconds, plastering the fine silk to her skin. Water streamed down her face, yet she couldn’t move. A lead weight sunk deep into her stomach, and her breath caught in her throat. The lightheartedness from earlier in the morning vanished into thin air, as though it had been utterly obliterated by the clouds themselves.
“My lady!” Daeun cried again, more urgently this time.
Around them, the marketplace descended into chaos. A cart overturned, sending vegetables rolling across the slick stones. Children wailed, separated from parents in the sudden rush for shelter. And above it all, the rain fell with unrelenting force, as if trying to wash away the city itself.
Yena’s fingers tightened around the cloth containing the baby shoes. “This isn’t right,” she whispered, her words lost in the roar of the downpour.
Finally, Yena allowed Daeun to pull her toward shelter, but the weight in her abdomen wouldn’t leave her. Her stomach churned with the certainty that the sudden storm was meant for her. It is as though I am being warned…
Daeun dragged Yena into the tea house, joining dozens of other drenched market-goers seeking refuge from the deluge. Daeun fussed over her, trying to wring water from her sleeves and smooth her sodden hair.
“My lady, you’re shivering,” Daeun observed, her own face pale with concern. Her dark hair clung to her face in clumps, as her nearly black eyes studied Yena closely.
Yena nodded, unable to explain that her trembling had nothing to do with the cold. Her heart was tight and cold in her chest.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered, clutching the baby shoes tighter. “It feels like something terrible is coming.”
Daeun’s eyes widened, but she said nothing, and Yena immediately recognized the anxiety in Daeun’s features.
Outside, lightning split the sky, illuminating the marketplace in harsh white light for a heartbeat before plunging it back into unnatural darkness. Thunder followed immediately, shaking the very foundations of the tea house.
“The dragons are angry,” an old man muttered from nearby, drawing fearful glances from those around him.
Dragons. The word echoed in Yena’s mind, resonating within her memories. The dragons aren’t real, she thought. No way.
Another flash of lightning, another crash of thunder. Yena thought she saw a pair of eyes in the clouds, staring down at the land below, but as soon as she blinked, they were gone.
Yena’s breath caught in her throat. What was that?
“My lady,” Daeun whispered, leaning close, “perhaps we should return to the estate as soon as possible. Lady Ahn will be concerned.”
Yena nodded absently, her eyes still fixed on the raging storm outside. Lady Ahn would indeed be concerned. Of course, not for Yena’s welfare, but rather for the delay in dinner preparations, for the state of Yena’s expensive hanbok, and for any number of perceived failures this incident would represent.
Yet somehow, those concerns seemed trivial now, washed away by the rain and the creeping dread that had taken root low in her gut. She shook her head, trying to will the emotion away, but it was to no avail.
“Yes,” she said finally, tucking the baby shoes safely into her sleeve. “We’ll return as soon as the worst passes.”
Yet, after waiting for a few minutes, the storm showed no sign of easing. Yena stood still, watching it rage on outside of the tea house, the flashes of lightning growing more and more frequent, overtaking the sky that less than an hour ago had been bright and blue.
She closed her eyes as rain hammered the roof overhead, its beat merciless. Her heart tightened in her chest.
Something had shifted. She didn’t know what. She only knew that it was too late to stop it.
